First Impressions
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Trapper nervously waits for his blind date to show soon after his divorce.


Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. This story may not be reproduced in part or whole or published elsewhere without the express permission of the author. NO copyright infringement is intended.

First Impressions

"I'm a damn fool," Trapper told himself. No, he corrected himself, a damn, old fool. No fool like an old fool and that was what he was afraid that he had made of himself. He couldn't believe that he had let Randi fix him up on a blind date. For the past two months she had ragged on him every morning as they went jogging to allow her to fix him up with a professor she taught with at Berkley. Trapper had consistently declined but then finally she wore him down and he accepted. Randi told him that she was divorced as well and had giving up on meeting any decent men. Randi said that she had been trying to play up Trapper as the perfect man for her and finally, her friend had capitulated-but not without reservations.

The woman was pleasant enough on the phone when Trapper called, but had insisted on meeting him at the restaurant and he couldn't really blame her; in this day and age, a woman had to be careful. But yet the idea that she was as leery of him as he was of her hurt his feelings even though he knew he had no right to be hurt. After all, he had quizzed Randi about her and was ashamed at asking the most superficial of questions such as, is she pretty? Randi had answered that it was all a matter of taste but that the male professors seemed to think so. And she was smart too.

So then Trapper had asked why she needed a blind date if she was so smart and pretty. Randi asked why he needed a blind date if he was so smart and handsome. "Touché," he had told her.

And now he sat in his favorite French restaurant where they knew him personally, waiting for his blind date to show up. He had tucked a few condoms in his wallet even though if anything further came of this evening, he had some at home. But maybe she wouldn't want to go home with him-maybe she would ask him back to her place or suggest a hotel or maybe no place at all. Maybe she would never want to see him again or he, her. He shook his head and called himself a damn fool again. Here he was, a man in his late 50's worried about a date.

Ever since his divorce ten years ago, he had gone through many a lonely time. Melanie had wanted the divorce, not he. And then that night he came home and found his bags packed and waiting by the front door. That was still a wound that would never heal. He should have seen it coming, he had told himself. There had been signs-her being angry and cold to him whenever he had to leave to go to the hospital outside of his regular hours. But what did she expect him to do? he asked She knew he was a doctor, knew he was going to be one when she married him and now she wanted things different. Well, it couldn't be.

And then came the divorce and the intense loneliness. For the first two years they would still meet and sleep together; it was familiar and comfortable and he hoped that they would reconcile but then, after a time, he realized that he wasn't in love with her anymore, actually hadn't really been for a few years and that he was relieved to be away from her demands and the constant criticism she heaped on him. According to her, he never spent enough time at home, had neglected their children when they were growing up and was cursory in his relations with her. He used to be a tender lover, she told him, and now he was just a "wham, bam, thank you, ma'am," lover. He couldn't believe that she had used that old line. What song was that from? he asked himself. He could hear the words, the voice, but couldn't remember the name of the song….he hated it when he couldn't remember things. Growing old was hell.

He thought back to when he young, when he and Hawkeye were stationed together. As awful as the time had been, the wounded and dead, the horrid living conditions, he actually felt that he had been most alive at that time. And that was the only time he had been unfaithful. He had never told Melanie about his dalliances and she had never asked until they had gone through counseling after she had already thrown him out and they were making an attempt to reconcile, a failed attempt. That was when she had asked-had asked him if he had ever been unfaithful and he had said, yes, and admitted to it. And then, much to his surprise and hurt, she admitted to having had an affair with a doctor friend of his many years ago when the children were young, when she was so lonely and he was putting in such long hours trying to become established. Later that night, as he lay in his bed recovering from the shock of her adultery, he saw how it explained everything that had occurred at that time, how it explained the "class" she was taking and why his friend became distant and cold. He blamed himself for being an idiot and not seeing what was going on behind his back. How many other people had known, he wondered, how many? Had people been laughing behind his back? He hated her then. He hated her for what she had done to him and from that day forth, his love for her began to die and fade into nothingness.

And here he sat, waiting for a woman he knew nothing about except that she was smart and might be considered pretty by some.

Trapper had asked for a table with a view to the entrance so that he could see her when she came in. He really didn't know what to look for-they hadn't set up any special code, such as, "I'll be wearing a red dress," as they did in college which, he noted, was the last time he had gone on a blind date. That one had led to a relationship of a few months of hot and heavy romance but it had burned out quickly.

Thinking about college made him wonder if he should explain his nickname. Had Randi told her about his nickname, Trapper? He hadn't asked her. Should he introduce himself to his date as "John," or "John McIntyre," or "Dr. John McIntyre?" No, he thought, "doctor," was too pompous. He would just introduce himself as "John McIntyre." Maybe later, if she asked him about "Trapper," he would explain about the girl and the train and how she claimed he had "trapped" her in the car. The name had become a badge of honor and then Hawkeye had recognized him as "Trapper John" when they had met at the surgical unit and from then on, he was "Trapper" again.

Then Trapper saw a beautiful, no, stunning woman with long, blonde hair enter the restaurant. Maybe this was she. He was glad he had remembered the condoms. Then a man came in a few moments later and the maitre d' led them to their table. Obviously it wasn't his date. But he thanked God it hadn't been the woman who had walked in alone about ten minutes ago. She had not been to his taste at all, a little too hard looking-she looked as if she never smiled. It wasn't her figure or her age, she just looked as if she had never and would never compromise. He wanted someone who would indulge him on some matters, a woman who would surrender herself to him both body and soul. He smiled to himself at his concept of idealized romance but he couldn't help himself. He was getting on in life and the thought of being alone for the rest of his life caused him to lie awake sometimes, wondering about the 20 or so years he had left. Life was far too short. He wanted to spend the rest of it in the arms of a woman he loved, and most important of all, who loved him.

Looking up again, Trapper saw a woman enter. She looked apprehensive but it wasn't that- he just knew in his gut that she was for there for him-there was just something about her that made his breathing catch and made his heart start to pound. He just knew that it was she, that this was the woman he was to meet. He was so sure that he stood up even though his table was quite a distance from the door.

The maitre d' and she exchanged some small talk which Trapper thought was unusual; there was even light laughter and then she was directed to his table, the head waiter smiling the whole time. Trapper walked toward her-he couldn't bear to wait any longer to touch her and when she met his eyes, she smiled, put out her hand and Trapper felt himself melt-he felt like a young kid again, a young, horny kid who wanted nothing more than a make-out session in the back seat of the car. He thought to himself that he must be grinning like an idiot. And he thought, damn you, Randi-she's so pretty and you never told me. But then, he thought, she wanted them both to be able to meet and form their own impressions, not one tainted with the pasts they both carried around in their souls.

~FINIS~


End file.
